


Ad Astra Per Aspera

by glowingmarauders



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Jegulus, M/M, Marauders, Marauders Era (Harry Potter), Minor Regulus Black/James Potter, One Shot, Starchaser, Underage Drinking, Underage Sex, wolfstar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-27
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-18 04:28:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29728329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glowingmarauders/pseuds/glowingmarauders
Summary: through hardships, to the stars.-jegulus one shot, written per request/for jegulus week 2021! this work does not correlate with asbaon; they are two separate realities. minor cw for child abuse/harassment. nothing in depth.
Relationships: James Potter/Lily Evans Potter, Minor or Background Relationship(s), Regulus Black/James Potter, Sirius Black/Remus Lupin
Comments: 15
Kudos: 31





	Ad Astra Per Aspera

Winter was the season of snowflake kisses and red-stained knuckles, driven crazy with the absence of birdsong and the grey, lifeless eyes staring back at him in the toothpaste-splattered mirror. He felt a ghostly chill run through his torso, nipping at his stomach, freezing his bone marrow, and he wanted to collapse to the ground, maybe to cry, maybe to die. The bathroom vanity was cold and unwelcoming, but he grasped it with his fingers, as if it kept him tethered to the earth itself.

 _This,_ he said, _this is how you’ll die._

-

**14 January, 1975**

His fingers traced the novel, its dust cover ripped and covered in a fine layer of grime. It was _The Iliad_ , a book so outdated and unintelligible from years of fingering, and the ink on the pages was blurred with sweaty fingerprints. Regulus stayed in the Muggle Literature section most days - he wasn’t allowed to read these books at home, and Madam Pince had neglected this area for the past decades. He couldn’t read it well, and he couldn’t understand it in the slightest, but it distracted him from the boy sitting across the table, with dark hair that stuck up in every direction and glasses that slid down his nose.

It wasn’t that he _liked_ the ebony haired boy, that wasn’t it. He was more so infatuated with him, fascinated that there was a boy who could give and receive so much love. _Except,_ he thought, _he wouldn’t give you any._

His name was James, and he was his brother’s best friend. His name was James, and he was the Gryffindor Quidditch captain. His name was James, and his eyes shone in the sun, and his dimples perforated his cheeks, and he was absolutely perfect.

James lived with a long haired boy named Sirius, who he used to know. In summers of pot smoke and dahlia petals, they were former brothers, products of generations of incest and abuse. He didn’t mind much, there was a reputation to uphold and a family name to preserve. Sirius cared. Sirius left to go to James’ house, leaving Regulus alone, with nobody but a house elf to keep him company in the house that he never really could call home.

He sighed, skimming his book page to find the meaningless sentence he had left off on, another meaningless idiom that Homer had expected readers centuries from his first draft to over analyze. It wasn’t that great of a book - the plot was predictable, and the imagery was dated. He stretched his arms across the wooden table, feeling each phalange in his nimble hands crack and release.

“Tired?” a smug voice asked, and he could almost hear the distinguished smirk in the tone.

“Go away.” he snapped, discarding his decorum and allowing an unfamiliar feeling to bubble up behind his navel, his head swarmed with lust and libido. 

“I’m quite comfortable here, Regulus.” the voice rang again, and he was drowning in a pool of ungodly feelings, wanting to melt into the floor. _Regulus._ His name rolled off James’ tongue like honey, like sweet nectar of a flower or like the warm sun rays that heated the rocky pavement. He wanted to die.

“You look tired,” James continued, the sugariest drawl. “Your brother, he wants to talk with you, you know.”

“I have no brother.” Regulus said, diverging his eyes to his book, for he could feel his cheeks flushing and his eyes filling with sublime passion. He bit his lower lip, holding in fervor behind two rows of straight and milky white teeth.

“Oh, Regulus,” James tutted, shaking his head with a stupid grin plastered on him. “You don’t need to do this.” And instead of hatred or lust or sensuality bubbling up his throat, blocking his breath, drowning him in the deep cesspools of zeal, he was met with catharsis. 

-

**17 July, 1975**

It was a tiresome week concluded with the last four years worth of anger and sullenness cascading into a muffled pillow. 

Sirius left. He walked away - he took everything but his brother. A year later, Father burned his name off of the tapestry. Narcissa and Bellatrix watched. 

It was one year since Sirius had left, and Regulus remembered it vaguely. There was a long duel: Mother had used an Unforgiveable on him, and he left - he cried a little bit, and Sirius never cried. He told Regulus he was going to James’ house - but he never expected it to last. He had ran away before, but he was always back when he needed a warm meal or clean clothes, no matter how many times he knew he would feel those curses again. 

There was a sharp rap on the door, and in a frenzy of anger, Regulus stood up and pushed the door open, the creaking being the only noise radiating through Grimmauld Place. Even the annoying noise of Sirius’ music was well missed; by Regulus, at least. 

“My son,” Mother cooed, smoothing her violet gown. “My beautiful son.” She stroked his cheekbone with a long and thin finger, her blazing eyes the color of gunpowder. Regulus bit his tongue as Mother continued to caress his face - his jawline tightened and his eyes closed. He didn’t like when Mother touched him. 

“How gorgeous. My lovely son.” she murmured, her hands continuing to massage his neck and brush the shoulders of his robes. “I always wished I had two sons.”

“You do.” Regulus said, meeting her eyes. “You have two sons, Mother.” The distinguishable scent of champagne and old liquor emitted off of her, off of her robes, off of her hair. 

“No, I have one son. One son. One lovely son.” she repeated softly, her eyes fluttering shut. Her hands drifted to Regulus’ torso, straightening his dress shirt and rubbing circles on his hips. Her touch was unwelcome, and he wanted nothing more than for her to let go. He exhaled, gently removing her hands from his body, and holding them in his before letting go moments later. 

“Two sons. Sirius. Remember?” he said slowly. 

“No,” she moaned, her drunken words barely escaping through her red, puffed lips. “ _One_ son. I need more,” she slurred, reaching her hands out to his hips and pulling him close to her - she was cold, and seemed to emanate the same feeling of a late January night. But it was July, and it was eight PM. She buried her face into the crevice between his collarbone and neck, and whispered sweet nothings to him. She was warm, and her breath was the heat unwelcome for his cold, white body. He couldn’t understand her. 

Regulus placed his hands up to her shoulders, detaching her from him, and immediately there was a change of tone. He was used to the scene; Mother gets drunk, comes into his room, begs for a kiss or a quick rendezvous.

“Very well.” Mother said, her diction precise, and no longer slurring over her words. “Very well.” She turned to exit the room, and Regulus sighed, closing the door. 

He didn’t enjoy Mother’s episodes. They had been sparse before Sirius’ untimely departure, but now that the burden of the entire English wizarding community knowing about the tensity in the House of Black was a knife to the gut for her - she was drunk every night, and Father knew to lock himself in his study, along with Mother’s wand. She got out of hand, and Auntie Druella had dropped off a new bottle of Madam Rosmerta’s enchanted Chardonnay as a gift of condolence.

She had acted upon Sirius, as well, but she preferred Regulus. He was slimmer, taller, less toned, and weaker. Sirius knew how to get her to stop. He knew how to end it. Regulus did not. There were few ways in which they were similar. 

It was a quiet evening, for Mother departed to bed early, Kreacher was busy with Father in the study, and Sirius was not there anymore. There were no more Rolling Stones, no more Beatles, no more hushed whispers with James - because even though Sirius thought he was being deceitful, Regulus heard each word. Each word uttered - each word since he had started at Hogwarts. 

It wasn’t that he meant to eavesdrop. The first few times were purely by happenstance. But as the days went on and the conversations dwindled, Regulus learned that Sirius would not talk to him again. He had James now. And anger directed at Sirius for ignoring him turned into anger at James, anger for stealing his brother from him. 

Over the years, anger had turned into jealousy, and in the past few months, jealousy into lust and longing. There were many times where Regulus would hear James and Sirius talk about recent encounters with girls - how long they lasted, how submissive the girl was, how risky it was, how many minutes before a teacher found them. Months later, the conversations had taken a turn, and instead of girls, Sirius talked about the Lupin boy; how gorgeous his eyes were in the sun, how great of a kisser he was, how nice his body was, how he wanted to run his hands through the golden curls. One night, Regulus had heard a muffled conversation through the doorway. There was a lazily executed _Muffliato_ placed around Sirius’ room, but a small two foot section outside of his door wasn’t yet covered by the spell. So Regulus dropped to his knees, pressing his ears to the gap between the door and the floor. 

“How did you know?” James had asked quietly. 

“Me? Well, I suppose it was never quite the same with a girl. And I always thought Remus was nice. And I knew he was… I knew he was gay, so I asked to kiss him. And he said okay, sure, so I did.” Sirius replied, his voice barely above a whisper. That was how Regulus learned Sirius was queer. 

“I dunno what feels right,” James sighed, and Regulus could almost hear him run a hand through his hair. How he wanted those nimble fingers to press against his neck, to hold his Adam’s apple, to twirl his hair.

“I won’t let you snog Remus,” Sirius had grinned. “Not a chance.”

“Well, I don’t bloody want to snog Remus!” James laughed in retort. 

“So who is it?”

“Hm?”

“Who’s the boy?” Sirius repeated. “You wouldn’t’ve asked if there wasn’t a boy you liked. So tell me.”

“There’s not a boy.” James scoffed. “I was just wondering.”

“Okay.” Sirius had said slowly, smirking. “Whatever.”

Regulus found himself thinking about that conversation an absurd amount of times in the next nine months after hearing it. Surely the boy wasn’t Sirius, and it couldn’t have been the Pettigrew boy. A small, zealous spark inside of his mind told him, _The boy is you. He loves you back. He loves you._

He could never quite shake that thought. 

-

**25 August, 1975**

House of Black luncheons were lonely and timid, and with the war not too far into the future, terrifying. It felt like a hazy memory, like something he might have dreamt, but Regulus swore something was different at this gathering. There were no empty seats, and there was nothing different but a slight shift in tone. His head swam and his mind seemed to be dripping out of his ears, but he remembered years earlier, and there definitely was somebody else in attendance.

He had long, black hair, and he was vaguely muscular, and he had a long nose and raised cheekbones. He looked like Regulus, but more childish, more fun-loving. He looked familiar, but Regulus couldn’t identify him.

Mother had ensured him over the past month that there was no other Black son, no one besides him. There seemed to be a weight on his shoulders that he couldn’t get rid of, the small feeling that there _was_ someone else. 

“Now, now, Regulus,” Mother murmured, her words hot on his neck where he had pried her lips away just minutes before. “You have no brother, love. You have never had one.”

“I have never had a brother,” he repeated, her words burning like fire as he lied through his teeth.

“Never, darling. Never.” she said, her voice in a tone where one would think she was talking to a newborn baby. “When will you have a child, love?” she asked, standing behind him and straightening his robes.

“I’m not sure, Mother.” he lied, staring straight into his own grey, cloudy eyes in the mirror ahead.

“Oh, please, soon, please,” she pleaded, her eyes wide and eyebrows lopsided. She reeked of alcohol. “Please, I’m always here, darling, I’ll always be here for you. Please let me love you.”

Regulus tensed his shoulder, and her grip fell. He did not break his eyes away from his reflection, but he watched Mother glide away, taking the coldness and her distinctive scent with her. He sighed, and continued to smooth his robes, waiting for the shadow next to him to soon be occupied by his former brother.

**27 September 1975**

Only days into the new term Regulus felt himself revert into a shell of nothingness, wanting nothing more than to crawl up into a ball and sit in the corner of his dorm for a few hours. In the past months, he missed the scent of leather and cigarette smoke near him, and instead could only recognize the pungent scent of fear. 

He appreciated the early mornings spent in the library or Great Hall, though he would ignore the boys in his year in the same way he ignored the food in the table in front of him, and ignored the deep tug in his stomach of anxiety, and ignored the eyes on him, watching him as he walked down the hallways, for his family trauma had woven its way through the gossip of the school. 

The almost-empty Great Hall doors creaked open, and four boys entered, laughing and grinning and skipping and beaming, in ways Regulus yearned for. He had friends, he had many, but they were more so acquainted with him, and there was not a trace of friendship in any of their longing glances. They wanted to be a pureblood heir. They wanted what he had, and he told himself every day that he was lucky to be the heir. He wasn’t though, and even he knew that. 

Benches creaked across the hall, and the ringing bells of laughs and banter seemed to fill the room. He sighed, rubbing the side of his neck with the opposite hand. And he knew it was bad, and he knew it was sick, and he knew he was wrong, but distance was swallowing him whole, and bloodstained hands and scraped knees would never be his demise. 

The long haired boy glanced over at his table, and as their eyes met for a second, Regulus felt his jaw clench. The stranger with black hair narrowed his glance, and looked back at James. Sirius - the boy with long hair - had a newfound confidence, undoubtedly from the everlasting presence of anxiety being released. He missed him. 

There were two other boys - Remus and Peter. Peter would never amount to anything, and everybody knew this. He followed James around like Icarus followed the sun, jealous and yearning. _You would have done the same,_ he thought. 

Remus was in romantic relations with Sirius - one of the many reasons Sirius had left Regulus alone, but that was in another life of abandonment and disgust. Regulus had left that life behind months ago. He did not know the boy with long hair and red robes. He only knew the former shadow of him, who sat at the piano bench in 1964 quietly, listening to Mother and not daring to shout at Father. Sirius was queer. Regulus knew, but he did not tell Mother and Father. Sirius was queer and he was acquainted with Remus. It was dirty. It was not _right_ , and Sirius and Regulus both knew. 

So, even as he watched James strut across the Great Hall, and sit at the same bench he had eaten at since 1971, he knew queerness was disgusting and unearthly. He knew that the way he felt when he saw the glint in James’ eye was unfaithful, and he knew the way he begged to run his hands through his hair, to cup his jaw, to feel James on top of him, pressure pushing down and the usual barrier around him to be forgotten, for he would do anything and everything for James. 

It was later that day, when Regulus paged through the raggedy books on the wooden bookshelves, searching for a new piece of literature to lose the rest of himself in; that is, lose the rest of himself he hadn’t yet lost. He rubbed his temples. 

“Oh, fuck off, Lupin, leave me alone!” a giggling voice laughed, ringing through the library and weaving into Regulus’ ears, dancing and singing inside his mind for the few minutes Rome had ceased to burn. 

“Busy, are we, Black?” the same voice said, nonchalant and calm. 

“Reading.” Regulus replied in a mere murmur, his knees failing and head tilting. 

“Ah. Any recommendations?” James asked, walking over to the shelf Regulus stood at. They were close in height, but Regulus’ build was smaller and thinner. He was an ugly pasty white, too, purple undertones and dark grey eyes. 

“I like…” he said, lifting his chin, and allowing his fingers to brush across James’ on the spines of the literature. He shivered slightly. “I like Oscar Wilde.”

“Cheers, Black.” James grinned, bumping Regulus’ shoulder. “Oi, Muggle books. Never expected that from you.”

“And I never expected you were much of a reader.” Regulus shrugged, keeping his gaze concentrated on the novels in front of him. The scent of old parchment mixed with cedarwood cologne radiated into his nostrils. 

“You’re not much like your brother,” said James, now leaning up against the bookshelf and thumbing through the book he had chosen from the _Surname W_ section - it was _The Star Child_ , which Regulus found criminally underrated - it had an obvious theme, and even more obvious character arcs, but he had loved it since he was a child. 

“I’ve told you, Potter, I have no brother.” Regulus snapped, not meeting his eyes, because if he were to, there would be a puddle on the ground where a currently-melting Regulus stood. 

“Reggie,” James said, tilting his head and clucking his lips. The pet name made Regulus sigh. “You do. And he doesn’t want to talk to you, but I do.”

“Why’s that?” Regulus said, scoffing and raising an eyebrow. Grey eyes met brown and he drowned in dirty seas. 

“Do you miss him?” James asked, frowning and brows furrowed. Regulus blinked, and in a breath of cinnamon and cardamom, he felt a breath hot on his face. It was warm, and comforting, and the older boy took a step closer. Mere inches separated their face, and he knew it was platonic, and he knew it was in worry, but there was still a part of him praying otherwise.  
“I don’t.” Regulus lied. “I barely remember he was ever there.”

“Dunno how you could forget. He’s always making _some_ sort of spectacle,” James laughed softly, balancing out his weight from where he lay on the shelf.

“Not at home,” he blurted. “He only ever stayed in his room. Talking to you, on that mirror.”

“You knew about the mirror?” James asked, an eyebrow cocked. “He told me that he never told anyone, that’s why we never called for long.” He paused, grinned, and scrunched up his nose, taking a step towards Regulus. “Bet he snuck out to go see Muggle birds, that’s what I’ll bet.”

“Birds. Right.” snorted Regulus, smirking. “I know about him and Lupin.” James’ grin faltered, and for an imperturbable second, fear crossed his face. 

“You don’t… you don’t mind that?” James asked warningly, standing up to his full height gingerly. He was just a hair shorter than Regulus, but was stronger, and wider.

“Nah,” he shrugged, though he didn’t know if he quite believed it. 

-

**15 November 1975**

He watched the boy clad in scarlet robes cast a burgundy ball between a circular hoop, and it took everything in his power not to stand and cheer for the messy-haired boy taking a victory lap around the field. Minutes later the Golden Snitch was caught by another scarlet-robed player, and the game was over. Just as well. Ravenclaw had no chance. 

Cheers erupted from the golden and red corner of the field, with booms and roars and shouts and cries permeating the air, filling the outdoor stadium with yelps of joy. It was hard not to join in. When Regulus felt a cold hand on his shoulder from one of his followers, he knew it was time to tear his gaze away and go.

He walked through the castle for the hours afterward, waiting for somebody to talk to him or to follow him before making another mistake. He was tired, though he hadn’t done anything all day, but watching James swerve on the field felt like a full-time job. 

It was nice to get away from his roommates for once - they followed him _everywhere_ , everywhere besides the library. He spent most of his spare time there, but it was closed for the night. There was a small party in the Slytherin room - if you could call a socializing hour catered by house elves a party, that is. His breath reeked of alcohol, and he ran his tongue across his teeth. Sighing, he leaned against the corridor wall, wishing he could try a cigarette to ease his mind.

“Oi!” slurred a welcoming James, who walked down the hallway, tripping over his feet.

“Potter,” Regulus smirked. “Great job at the match.”

“Yeah. Thanks.” he said, walking closer to Regulus. “Party in the common room. I’ve just now escaped, the girls are trying to nurture me,” he laughed, motioning to his foot, which was wrapped tightly in a brace under his shoe. “But I’m fine, really, just a sprain.”

“Thought you’d love those girls fawning over you,” he said, cocking an eyebrow.

“Yeah, it’s whatever,” he shrugged. He smelled of firewhiskey, but he wasn’t too intoxicated. His speech had become clearer. “But… sometimes, I just want something _else_.”

“Oh?” asked Regulus nonchalantly. He tilted his chin upwards, raising his eyebrows. “Like what?”

James stepped forward, cupped Regulus’ jaw, pressed him against the stony wall, and fireworks exploded as their lips rammed together, and Rome could have been burning, but Regulus never would have known, for the pure fervor battle occurring in his mouth was enough to keep him occupied for years.

**21 December 1975**

James didn’t bring up the scene that night for weeks, even as they spoke every day. _Maybe he was too drunk to remember. Maybe he regrets it. Maybe you’re just a bad kisser_ , voices in his head kept repeating. But they were all swept away as a black-haired boy walked up to his library table, and suddenly he wasn’t interested in his book anymore.

“Happy Christmas, Reg,” a warm voice that sounded like honey and hot wine beamed.

“You’re four days early.” Regulus said pointedly, staring up from his book. James had cornered him in the library each day for the past months - whether he be asking for book recommendations, or to ask for a proofread of an essay. Regulus didn’t mind, though. He loved being near James, for he smelled of a warm summer day.

“Men know life too early.” he grinned. “Oscar Wilde.”

“My, my, Potter, you’ve gotten ahead of yourself,” Regulus smiled, shaking his head. His cheeks flushed scarlet, and he tucked a strand of hair behind his ears.

“Just finding a way to impress my favorite Black,” he sighed, straddling a chair and exhaling, ruffling his hair with those long fingers Regulus adored. “Sirius and I got into a fight.”

“Had my fair share of those,” Regulus grinned, but discarded the stupid smile as he saw how worried James looked.

“He’s coming to mine for Christmas.” James started, tapping the crest rail of the chair he sat in. “But he’s kinda mad, I don’t think he’s quite ready for it.” He was quiet, and his eyebrows furrowed in concentration.

“Oh.” Regulus nodded.

“I really think he misses you.”

“He shouldn’t have left. It was his decision. And now I have no brother.” Regulus said, his voice monotone as if he had rehearsed this exact phrase time after time - which he had, for the record.

“You have me,” James offered, meeting Regulus’ eyes. He felt a spark go off. “You have me,” he repeated, turning his chair around. He glanced feverishly to each side, ensuring the library was vacant, and placed his gentle, calloused hands on Regulus’ side, pulling him in and planting a longing kiss on his lips, which he opened in response. It was warm, and comforting, and Regulus had thanked the stars that Madam Pince had taken this time to reorganize her office.

-

**10 March 1976**

Clandestine meetings in broom closets had become a regular happening between the two - he knew James wasn’t ashamed, but it wasn’t good to be a queer man in the 1970s. Neither of them _wanted_ to tell anybody - it was fun to keep secrets. 

_James_ was fun. He was handsome, everybody knew, but Regulus found pride in knowing that nobody quite knew James like how he did - not even his roommates. His stomach was perfectly lined, his hands commanding, yet comforting, and his sweaty hair pressed to his wet forehead sent Regulus into another dimension. He liked to be in charge. Regulus was fine with this - he didn’t know how to lead, he was a follower. So, the first time, only days after holiday, when James began to unbuckle his belt and Regulus stiffened, James knew to stop. He always knew.

Maybe it was the secretivity, maybe it was pure jealousy, maybe it was teenage lust, but Regulus had finally learned how to grapple his feelings, and came to terms with how he felt about James. He was not in love. That much he had known from the start. He loved James, but he was not _in love_ with him. He loved his body, and his personality, but after james graduated, they would go their separate ways, and James would settle - presumably the Evans girl with the red hair - and he would have children, and he would live a life of heteronormativity, and Regulus would be nothing besides his best friends’ younger brother, who had entered a life of darkness and defeat.

He didn’t like to think about the war. He didn’t want to take a side. Over holiday, Father had commanded him to follow in the ways of the Dark Lord once he was of age, and so Regulus would. There wasn’t much to do about that - life wasn’t fair. Father didn’t quite understand why Mother was so keen to keep him safe, keep him home, and never let him out of her sight. Regulus loved her, but he didn’t love her episodes. It had taken an hour and a half to pry her off of him Christmas Eve night, and Regulus was prepared for a lifetime of _caring_ for her.

That was in the past. It was James’ birthday, which had fallen amiably on a Wednesday. The real party wouldn’t be until Friday; Regulus knew this, because James had talked about it all week. Regulus wanted to celebrate that night, though, and James had to fabricate a lie as to why he would be leaving for ‘detention’ on his birthday.

“Thought I’d see you here,” he murmured, his wand gleaming as he slipped into the broom cupboard on the fifth floor. 

“Happy birthday,” Regulus said, running his hand up James’ back as he drew him forward, their lips pressing together and their eyes closing. He loved James’ lips - they were plump and cherry red, and opened right when they needed to. James began to run his hand along Regulus’ belt buckle, and he knew all would be well.

-

**25 June 1976**

There was a quick goodbye in the bathrooms at Kings’ Cross Station - rushed, but lovely nonetheless. James peppered him with quick kisses before dragging him into a vacant bathroom and placing a Locking Charm on the doors - he was of age now, naturally. 

“You’re so pretty for me,” James murmured, sucking on Regulus’ neck - suddenly, he was glad his shirt was collared. “So beautiful.”

“Be a good boy for me, that’s right, Regulus, be good…” he whispered, and Regulus relaxed, and it was over. James sighed, collapsing to the floor of the handicapped stall, and pulled his jeans on, running a hand through his sweaty hair.

“Your brother’ll be waiting for me, I… I’d better go. Owl me, don’t forget!” James said, planting a final kiss on Regulus’ hand before darting out. Regulus watched him run off, sighing.

Regulus waited ten minutes after James walked out - he didn’t want to draw any attention to himself. Mother wasn’t on the platform to pick him up - had she forgotten? Had something come up? He straightened his Muggle clothes - trousers and a dress shirt, the things he wore under dress robes - and continued out of the loo, his trunks behind him and his wand tucked deftly into a pocket.

“My dear,” he heard Mother coo, and he whipped his head around. She had never waited for him at the Muggle platform. He rustled to adjust his collar, to cover the ring of purple spots James had tattooed him with just minutes earlier. She grasped his wrists, her fingers fitting comfortably around them, and in a flash of teal, he stood on the front step of Grimmauld Place, opening the door dexterously.

“Your Father has gone to the Lestrange’s for a meeting,” she informed him, her eyes glazed over and voice wisty. “It’s just the two of us,” she continued, gliding over to massage his shoulders. His top button popped open, and his collarbone was revealed, purpling ovals covering the entire surface.

“Darling,” Mother gasped, taken aback. “Darling, who are these from?”

“You’ve been drinking, Mother.” he said carefully, ducking away and buttoning his top button. He clapped his hands. “Kreacher. Trunks to my room, please.” he commanded the wrinkled house elf, who levitated his many suitcases to his bedroom, four floors up.

“My love,” she whispered, her breath heavy on his ear. “My love, you mustn’t do this to me. Let me love you. Let me keep you safe,” she murmured, her hands trailing down his arm, finally grasping his veiny hands.

“Mother,” he said quickly. “Mother, I have relations at school.”

He could see her shoulders drop, and her eyes turn a murderous black, and the room was encapsulated by a dim golden glow for only a second as she squeezed his hand, and he felt each tendon stiffen.

“I have not raised another queer.” she whispered dangerously. “Tell me, darling. I have not raised another queer.” She was scared. Regulus could smell her fear. 

“You have not, Mother, no need to worry.” he said casually, turning away and up the flight of stairs. He paused on the second floor landing, and his hands drifted to his neck. James had just been there moments before. He would never be there again.

-

**1 September 1976**

Mother was right. She had not raised another queer. Regulus spent his summer doing far better things than childhood play with a Gryffindor - he had met women from all over the world who had fought over him, daintily pushing their way over to where he would stand, in the back corner, at each dinner.

More importantly, he had promised a life to dark arts and to follow the rules of Lord Voldemort. Father had asked him to submit into a life of power, and he had practice with submission. His forearm ached, and it pained him to look down each day and see the snake and the skull emblazoned onto his arm.

One summer evening, he had sat in the dim corner of his cousin Narcissa and her husband, Lucius’, home, sipping on band champagne and feeling abandoned, he had been cornered by a few fellow Death Eaters. 

“I never expected you to go this far.” Rodolphus Lestrange had snarled. “Underage, correct?”

“Quite.” Regulus had replied, sipping his stale drink. 

“The Dark Lord shows no mercy.” Rodolphus hissed. He lifted up his shirt sleeve to show a writhing tattoo of a snake coming out of the mouth of a skull. “The Dark Mark. You’ll get it soon. Once you’re seventeen.”

“Seventeen. Right.” Regulus repeated, his heart dropping to his feet. The mark on his arm made him sick, and even after a month, he thought he would wake up in the morning from a bad dream, tattoo less and spooned by James. 

James. God, James. He hadn’t messaged him all summer. He couldn’t bring himself to. There had been a few letters from him - just some housekeeping, saying how much he missed him. Towards the end of the summer, the letters had become more platonic, and Regulus knew. 

“Hey, Reg!” James called, sliding open his compartment door. It was empty. Most of his roommates had left Hogwarts their final year, to designate their entire time to serve the Dark Lord. 

“James.” Regulus said, staring out the window. 

“You’ve been quiet all summer,” he murmured, pulling him onto his lap and running his hands through Regulus’ hair. “Silent.”

“Couldn’t get away,” Regulus whispered, for he knew if he were any louder, the groans he had been trying to suppress would escape. 

“Ah,” James smirked, pushing the back of Regulus’ head to his own. “So beautiful, and all for me,” he sighed. “You’re really pretty, Reggie.”

“Oh, shut up.” Regulus grumbled, breaking the kiss for a few seconds. He giggled as James pulled him farther up on his lap, their kisses deepening. And, for a few moments, in a shrinking room, life was fine. 

James grabbed Regulus’ arms, intertwining their fingers together, and stared into his eyes. His gaze flickered from his eyes to his wrist, and confusion took over.

“Regulus…” he gasped. His shirt was white and linen and stupidly see-through, and Regulus knew he should have worn black. 

“I have to go.” James said, standing up and exiting the compartment with no hesitation. He straightened his jumper, and Regulus could see him catch a final glance from outside the window. A cold draft wafted in. 

-

**28 September 1976**

There had been no chemistry since the last day of the year before. There was no love in the train compartment, and there was no love over the summer, either. And Regulus wasn’t stupid - he watched James and the red-haired Muggleborn in the hallway. He fawned over _her_ , and days of Oscar Wilde and surreptitious affairs were long gone. 

It was in those first days of Regulus’ sixth year when he learned that love was no longer, and firewhiskey nights were not what he needed. Liabilities and amiable relationships were not the same. In other news, the long-haired Gryffindor boy stole stares at Regulus for the first month. He knew. There was no way he didn’t. He could sense the change in tone between him and James. He knew. 

They had not spoken since his departure the previous summer. They would never speak again. They were never brothers - just two men birthed by the same woman. They were too different. 

James, on the other hand, did not speak to him again. They ended on terrible terms, for they could not socialize under their war alliances. It was a godawful thing, to be separated, but he knew it was coming. He knew that they would never last, and that was fine. It was never love. He had found the universe in those eyes, and not even wildflower bruises and moonlight beams could take that away from him. 

It would be okay.

**Author's Note:**

> hi guys! sorry for the delay in asbaon, i wanted to write this for jegulus week :) hope you enjoy, i've been getting a few requests. please comment and leave kudos!
> 
> where to find me:  
> tiktok: @glowingmarauders  
> wattpad: @glowingmarauders  
> tumblr: @glowingmarauders


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